


The Regret

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Old Ben Kenobi, Sad Ending, Untreated Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Alone in exile, Obi-Wan faces his regret over being unable to speak as Satine died.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85





	The Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly triggering with regards to selective mutism, though this Obi-Wan does not have it.
> 
> Written for ObitineWeek2018, Day 1: Regret (September 24th), has been sitting on my computer ever since. Finally posting the story, two years later.
> 
> Original concept for the story: He tried to speak, when she lay there dying, but he couldn't say a word.

There were many things he could have chosen to regret.

Surviving the Naboo duel. Not learning more about Zabrak anatomy and biology, to realize all the important organs would still be there and protected, even with the legs severed. Not aiming for Maul's neck instead of his middle. Not pulling himself together, that evening with Ventress, calming his heartbreak for Qui-Gon so they could _kill_ Maul and Savage _then._ He'd been so unbalanced by his rage, unable to remember any of the skills he had learned in the years since Naboo... He'd fought like a padawan, and it was no surprise he lost. Maul did not cuff his hand behind his back and only use skills _he_ had possessed back then, and yet Obi-Wan had unintentionally crippled himself.

He almost took them out on Florrum. He'd faced them both, alone, and severed Savage's arm, and the pain of it left the larger Zabrak out of the fight entirely. If he had driven himself a little faster when Maul fled, maybe he could have...

But.

If Obi-Wan could have but one regret, only one he was allowed to keep and hold while everything else faded away into the lost mists of the past, he wouldn't have to think about it, in order to find _the one._

It was kneeling, cradling the woman he loved as her life drained away, needing to speak, needing to say _anything at all,_ and being utterly unable to form even a single word.

He'd held her close, he'd squeezed her hand, he'd brushed the lock of hair out of her eyes and stared into her eyes the whole time, but he physically _could not speak_ over the agony in his heart.

Perhaps she'd recognized it, in the desperation in his eyes. She certainly hadn't waited for him to speak, had simply said what she wanted him to remember most, she had used the last of her strength to caress his cheek with her hand, and he had nuzzled into it the way he always had, it seemed to have been all he could do.

He had spoken with Qui-Gon. Broken little whimpers of, “No,” and “Yes, Master.” And with Anakin... floodgates had seemed to open, with betrayal and confusion needing to have _answers_ and be _heard—_ Obi-Wan had never _believed_ in the odd superstitions and prophecies and _fates_ that Qui-Gon had. But after Mortis... he had _believed in Anakin._ Anakin hadn't just been a son, a brother, his best friend. Obi-Wan had risked enormous depths of agony within his own soul when he recognized Anakin as the Chosen One.

Anakin had taken every faith, every trust, every ounce of pride and love Obi-Wan had placed in him, and thrown it away, then callously suggested Obi-Wan should just accept such abuse and thank him for sparing Obi-Wan himself. Or, you know, _die_ and so get out of Anakin's way.

And perhaps Obi-Wan should regret most that he had once again failed to kill a Sith, who later would visit untold suffering on the heads of innocents who did not even know of Obi-Wan Kenobi or Anakin Skywalker, who were simply trying to _live their lives,_ but the Empire would not stand for it...

But here, sitting in the desert with the wind tugging at his tattered and threadbare robes...

He found himself imagining what he _might have said_ to _Satine._

The woman who knew what she believed in, and held to it to the very end, standing strong when all else weakened and buckled and gave way against the pressure.

A woman true to herself first and foremost, and kind and loving _next._ A woman who knew where she wanted to go, who took vigorous and drastic steps to get there, and _succeeded_ because she refused to do things by halves, leaving nothing to luck.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the glare of the desert.

He could have said _I'm sorry, Maul is here because of me. I'm so sorry._

He could have said _I love you, please, please don't go._

He could have said _I'm so tired, please take me with you._

He could have lied _You'll be alright, it's okay, you're going to be okay._

Though how pointless would that have been, with his precious Mandalorian who knew wounds from having inflicted them in her early days, before she had chosen pacifism.

She deserved better than a lie, at the very end.

Yoda often said the Force was a gateway, to the future, and to the past, to friends long gone. It rarely provided that for Obi-Wan, though. Vivid memories of the past, certainly, and foreboding of the future, but he rarely had access to _people._

But just this once, sitting there, his heartache almost powerful enough to turn the sand around him to tortured glass, with that one, _unfathomable_ regret...

The Force provided such a connection.

He could almost feel a hand on his shoulder, the callouses of war disguised by a delicate glove, and a beloved voice whispering, _“Obi... I didn't need words, at the end. I needed you. And that, you gave me. If you had spoken, I would not have had the time to say what_ I _needed to say. Obi, your love was spoken in the way you pressed into my hand and held me with trembling arms, your hand so tight around mine. Your apology was spoken in your eyes, how devastated and lost you looked. Like you were breaking apart. I needed to be heard, I only had seconds left to say my last words, and you let me have all of them, you took none of them from me. You gave me your absolute attention, and you didn't make my death about you, you let it be mine.”_ The ghost of a kiss pressed against the top of his head, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

_“Obi, you sit here alone, year after year, trapped in your past. It's not healthy, Love. You are refusing to heal. There is too much torment within you, and Qui-Gon cannot reach you through it. He wants to be there with you, so that you are not alone through the years ahead. I know it's difficult, my shining knight, but I need you to look to the future. I need you to breathe. I need you to stop holding on so tightly to your pain, I need you to be willing to heal. My people are not lost. Some day there will be hope for them again, and the same holds true for the galaxy. Despair costs a great deal of effort from the despairing one, and there is only so much energy to give to it. Eventually the galaxy will find hope, simply because no one has the energy to despair any longer.”_

“You're not real,” he choked. “You're the desert playing with me.” And oh, it _hurt._

_“Perhaps. But if the desert speaks truth, should it not be listened to?”  
_ “I want you back.”

_“I cannot come back, my love. Allow me my sleep; you will join me someday. Qui-Gon_ can _come back to you, and he wants to, so very much. So breathe, my love. Stop fighting the pain and embrace it. Terrible things were done to you, of course it hurts. It is right for it to hurt, and it is also right for that pain to run its course through the excruciating healing process.”_

_Regret would be far more easy to cling to, and I do not want to forget you._

_“By seeking the slow, awful process of healing, you honor my memory. And Qui-Gon misses you. He wants to speak with you again.”_

“I do not know if I have the strength.”

_“You do. Have I ever lied to you before?”_

“No.”  
 _“Then believe me, when you cannot believe in yourself. Do you trust me, Obi-Wan?”_

He swallowed, the action painful, and his eyes squeezed more tightly shut, knowing that when he answered, she would be gone again.

_But... perhaps Qui-Gon..._

Though his former master must despise him, must hate Obi-Wan as much as Obi-Wan hated himself...

_Do I trust Satine Kryze, living or dead, Mando'ad or pacifist, warrioress or duchess, for now and all eternity?_

“Yes,” he whispered. “I do.”


End file.
